


Hunter

by Potato_Being



Series: Dragon Crisis [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 10:06:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10784664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Potato_Being/pseuds/Potato_Being
Summary: A dunmer who'd rather stay away from people is dragged into the Alduin situation by a fast-talking Breton and a reluctant Dragonborn





	Hunter

He's never seen the value in company. In living in a community, having a family, working with anyone for extended periods of time, he doesn't see the appeal. People are boring. People are selfish. People are petty. He recognises the inherent logical fallacy there, in holding himself above others, but he doesn't care. It's not like he's around anyone else long enough to prove him wrong.

Movdrar moved from Morrowind to Skyrim during the mass exodus, and he hated every minute of it. Skyrim is not much better, it's colder, more hostile, and the nords are a pack of asinine animals, as far as he's concerned. He's been spat at, stepped on, refused room and board, and every time he leaves a hold to continue wandering he spends more time in the forests and less time on the roads.

He finally just takes his gear and vanishes into the forests of Falkreath after he's caught between a Stormcloak and Imperial skirmish. He doesn't like either side, and when one of the Stormcloaks tells him to fight for his homeland he responds with a curt "my homeland is buried in ash, n'wah" and walks off.

He likes wandering. The southern part of Skyrim is a bearable temperature and not as bad to look at. If he could subsist entirely off the land and not have to deal with people to buy essentials every so often, it'd be perfect. So he wanders, hunting mainly rabbits and squirrels, killing the few wolves that decide he's easy prey, and avoiding the nords.

From the small shelter he's constructed against a cave wall, Movdrar can hear voices. Loud voices, specifically one loud woman's voice. It grates on his ears, too shrill to be a normal tone, and then the voice drops into a normal pitch. He draws his bow, creeping out towards the sounds. It's a heavily-armoured man accompanied by a small, slight woman in a mishmash of armour and clothing. Both are carrying gear, which means they're not near their home. He watches them suspiciously, up until the woman turns and points at him. The man is on the defensive, a large shield being raised, and Movdrar wonders how exactly that girl knew where he was. Most likely she's another person who knows about survival. Out of the corner of his vision he can see her running up the hill, sword drawn, and he stands up, drawing back his bow.

"I'd stop moving if I were you." He warns.

"Well you aren't me so fuck off." She's a breton, and a small one at that, tattoos on her face and arms. Probably a Forsworn.

"Please put the bow down. Malen, stop." The man-- obviously a nord-- calls up the hill. Malen stops, waiting for his command to attack, lowering her sword slightly. Movdrar lowers his bow, eyes on her.

"Who the fuck are you?" She asks, smiling with more teeth than lips.

"Why are you here?"

"Answer the question." Malen's smile vanishes, replaced by a scowl. Obviously someone who demands immediate reward.

"I am Movdrar Senrus. You are on my property."

"No I'm not." Malen tells him.

"Yes you are."

"No, because you don't have a house. That thing over there is not a house. You're a hunter living in a cave." She says, somehow going a whole minute without swearing.

"You're in my area, then." Movdrar doesn't have much patience for fools, people who think they know more than everyone else, and people who ask questions, and somehow this Malen is all three at once.

"Course I am. We're heading through, right?" Her sword is down at her side, an easy stance, and something in the casualness of it sets off Movdrar's alarms.

"What. Do you want." He bites out.

"A shit-load of stuff. Mainly gold, maybe food. A route to Ivarstead." She tells him.

"None of it is here. Leave." He tells her, and to his surprise, she shrugs and complies, though not before eyeing his house one last time.

 

Three weeks pass before he sees them again. It's definitely unusual to see the same person twice, and even more unusual for him to wake up with the same woman standing over him, staring intently.

"You got a thing I need." Is all she says.

"By Azura, what are you doing?" Movdrar slides away, drawing his knife. She watches him with the same gaze he observes game with.

"We need a tracker. And by tracker I mean someone who's not a Forsworn and wanted in the Reach. Someone who's better with forest survival than mountain survival."

"Why are you here?" Movdrar is on his feet, blade forward. She looks amused.

"You know about the dragons, right?" Movdrar nods. "Good. Well, we've got the only guy that can stop them, and currently it's just me and him, and while I'm okay with a bow I'm better with a sword. There'll be gold involved." She in forms him. "Or, failing that, plantable ingredients, potentially a bit of land, oh-- and the survival of the world as we know it." Movdrar glares at her.

"Who are you?"

"Forsworn, first and foremost. Malen. Malen Feste. You're Movdrar Senrus, and you're an archer, hunter, tracker, cranky weirdo who lives in a cave, I can keep going."

"No."

"Of course. How about we help you out with the spriggans?"

"How--" Movdrar stares at her, shocked. He's been living too close to a pack of spriggans for a while now, and she somehow knows about his concerns.

"I'm a scout. It's my job to know things. You want help?" he almost wants to say 'no'. Tell her off, make her leave, go back to his quiet existence. But there's the offer of keeping his cave safe. A promise of adventure. He doesn't really want the world to end, in all honesty.

"Yes." The word is sour on his tongue. She nods sharply and leaves. He packs his bag with everything he can carry. He doubts he'll be back.


End file.
